" As a little child" — I say the words, And they seem to give me rest; As a little child would I become, And lie on the Mother's breast, — For God is the Infinite Mother Who hath borne and carried us all, Who broods above With a tender love Aware of our faintest call. But I asleep to that brooding love, Have been content in the dream; Or, fretted myself by day, by night.
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